Conviction
by Wynter-Solstice
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes is sent to Germany by MI7 to impede the threat of the Asgardian God, Loki, he thinks it's a simple matter of convincing Loki that he's a psychopath that lacks true purpose... he's devoid of conviction. And yes, Sherlock Holmes was wrong (He wishes that Lestrade hears nothing of this)
1. Obvious Facts

_I need a distraction, and this is the result. It was initially supposed to be a single chapter because, well, a certain fanfiction author has to study for her A-Levels, but it is not... and nor can it ever be.  
First story for BBC's Sherlock and I'd be lying if I said I'm not excited to see where this would go._

* * *

"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact."  
**― Arthur Conan Doyle_ (The Boscombe Valley Mystery)_  
**

* * *

**221B BAKER STREET,**

**LONDON**

There was something unduly disconcerting about the email that his brother had sent. Something… that made Sherlock Holmes sit back in his favourite chair, intertwine his fingers and press them against his chin.

MI7 did not enlist the assistance of civilians. And for them to do it now, meant going against everything they worked hard to maintain… or at least what Mycroft did.

It was always beyond Sherlock as to why, despite their relationship and his brother's _massive _intellect, they wished to seek him out. His brother never shied away from international travel. And while yes, they wanted to get involved before Interpol did. But why him?

Cases were fine. But when offered by his brother, Sherlock always wondered why. Unless, as his improbability theory would suggest, Mycroft Holmes _needed _him to do the job he couldn't manage himself.

And wasn't that a wonderful thought.

He faced his laptop, stationed on the coffee table and read, for what was the third time:

* * *

_**Dear Mr. S. Holmes**_

_**A matter of international importance has just come to the attention of MI7. While we are generally against speaking to civilians on these matters, your name has been selected for consideration as you are the one of the only person able to investigate at this time.**_

_**At your earliest convenience, please come to Buckingham Palace for a de-briefing. Which is to say, now, little brother. **_

_**Yours sincerely,**_

_**Mycroft Holmes**_

_"**The British Government" as you so kindly put it.**_

* * *

Was that Mycroft trying to make a joke? Urgh. When would he realize that these social habits simply didn't suit him.

Sherlock turned away from the screen, numerous possibilities flashing through his mind.

A matter of international importance, he mused, would not be something in the news as yet. MI7 thrived on secrecy, and keeping things away from the public eye. This was information he had to find for himself… Intriguing.

He stood, brushing the non-existent crumbs off of his jacket.

"I'm going out," he called to no one in particular, wrapping his scarf around his neck, and striding out the door with such careless ease, anyone watching would think he was off for a spot of coffee at the nearby café.

…

**BUCKINGHAM PALACE,**

**LONDON**

"Sherlock."

"Mycroft. Pray tell me you have an excellent reason to call me out of Baker Street when I was previously occupied."

"Occupied," his elder brother scoffed. "Please. If you had a case going on, you would've sent John. I've gotten you interested, haven't I?"

"I'm here now, aren't I?"

"No need for the rudeness, baby brother. There are cameras everywhere."

"And yet you insisted that I come here to see you. Our family reunions never go well, as per my memory."

Mycroft sighed. "It's only because this is a _formal _debriefing."

…

Sherlock was taken to a room, escorted by his brother and what seemed the Queen's armada. His careless glances told him what he already knew: The obsession with cleanliness… perfection… No wonder Mycroft enjoyed working for them.

Long tables circled the room, leaving the centre with a space large enough for a speaker to pace, _while _he delivered his speech. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling (maple, by the look of the gleam of the wood).

"Here, Mr. Holmes," one of the guards said, indicating a seat where an observer could miss nothing.

"Mine," Sherlock called, taking it, before his brother even had time to react.

…

Old men filed into the room, and Sherlock risked a bored look to his brother. Mycroft ignored him studiously, which, given the nature of their brotherly love, was a smart move.

A balding man strode to the centre of the room- unsmiling (grim news, perhaps?), brown eyes (common in a big proportion of the world's population), cane (friend of Mycroft's?) and a flash drive in hand (digital data… so not as big an idiot as he thought).

"Good morning, everyone. I come forward this morning with data from our colleagues from America. And, if the attack on the SHIELD base was bad, I suppose the incidents following that incident give a grim proposition on the fate of the world."

"Care to elaborate?" Sherlock asked, "The introduction is scarcely of importance to the matter at hand."

"Ah yes. Mr… Sherlock Holmes," he said, glancing at Mycroft, who put his face in his hands. "We invited you here on the premise that you be of assistance."

"As long as you capture of attention, in which area, dare I say it, you have been lapse."

The man was turning red now. "Please continue," someone in the crowd called out.

Steeling himself, Sherlock realized (watching his clenched knuckles as he removed the cover), the man plugged the drive in a small part of the wall.

Images filled the wall- people in uniform fleeing, carting large boxes with the logo of the American eagle displayed prominently… An implosion…. The base destroyed…

A movie too was playing in tandem with the photo view. A car chase, no doubt, judging from the shakiness of the film.

There was a figure that the person seemed to be attempting to focus on. A man with a large scepter in his hand, glowing blue at the middle. He was crouched at the back of a pick-up truck, but there was no mistaking the the green cape, nor the black garb that fit around his torso like armour.

The room burst into nervous chattering, but only Sherlock voiced his thoughts to the moderator.

"Who is that?"

"They call him Loki… and as far as we know, he's an extraterrestrial… Not from Earth," he clarified, noticing Sherlock's confused expression.

"I KNOW what it is."

"Thus far, he is responsible for the death of dozens of lives, and has in his possession the American's answer for the renewable energy problem."

"And where do I fit in?"

"We need your help to find him before the Americans do."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the only person in London who's able to find him without raising international suspicion…"

"And what about…"

"John Watson cannot accompany you, Sherlock," Mycroft replied, " But don't worry about your friend. You'd be back before Inspector Lestrade decides to take him seriously."


	2. Glorious Purpose?

**And I present to you... chapter two. Thank you for the support. Reviews, favourites, follows... just reading it actually. Like I mentioned in the last chapter's author's note, I'm not sure how this is turning out thus far... S**

**School will get in the way of regular updating and I must apologize if your patience runs thin.**

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_"Because God is never cruel, there is a reason for all things. We must know the pain of loss; because if we never knew it, we would have no compassion for others, and we would become monsters of self-regard, creatures of unalloyed self-interest. The terrible pain of loss teaches humility to our prideful kind, has the power to soften uncaring hearts, to make a better person of a good one."  
― _**Dean Koontz_ (Darkest Evening of the Year)_**

* * *

**GERMANY,**

**MIDGARD**

_Loki spat blood onto the blood rocks, glaring up at the man… the creature… that had brought him there. Constellations swirled in the sky above him but the beauty of his surrounding did nothing to calm his racing heart._

"_Loki Laufeyson," the voice sneered, "The fallen king."_

_Something behind him shoved him forwards, and while his battle training had prepared him for defense in innumerous situations, walking when one didn't have ability to use one's hands was uncomfortable._

_Of course, that was like everything there._

"_We have been kind to you, Asgardian. The least you could do is face your gracious benefactor."_

"_Benefactor? Is that what you are?"_

_He felt a clawed hand connect solidly with his face, grazing the skin. Whispers of 'impudence' echoed on the rocky landscape._

_The creature before him raised a hand, and silence befell. "I wish to speak to our friend alone," he declared, stepping forwards to wrap his arms around Loki's shoulder._

"_You sought death, Laufeyson…" he paused when Loki cringed at the sound of the name. "Does the term not please you? Would you rather be the son of the man who lied to you? Who favoured your adopted sibling? Is this… sentiment… towards the people who let you fall?"_

_He didn't answer._

"_Well, Asgardian… you wished for death. And you found it. If, that is, you are incapable of bearing witness to the unfolding of the universe as per my doing."_

"_Your doing?" Loki asked, confused but slightly intrigued._

"_I am Thanos… and you have reason to fear me.. As do the Nine Realms. I do not wish for war against your people, for what is war without reason. I rule the Cosmos and beyond, and a throne is but a seat to rest on one's laurels."_

"_Why don't you just kill me now? Spare me this banter."_

"_Because it is a wasted death. You show some promise… you seek revenge."_

_Loki fixed his gaze onto the eyes of Thanos-a split second decision and a mistake- and became mesmorised: A rare occurrence for the God of Mischief._

"_You will go to Midgard to fetch something of mine. If you succeed, the throne of the pathetic realm would be yours. Should Asgard get involved, you will meet your brother Thor…"_

"_He's not my brother."_

"_Perhaps not by blood," He replied quietly._

"_And if I fail?"_

"_You suffer." A pause and a crooked smile. "But before that, come with me. I wish to show you something only someone of your talents could appreciate."_

…

Looking Midgardian was simple enough, Loki realized, but the clothing was strangely loose, in terms of his own typical formal wear. To the casual human eye, he knew there WAS nothing untoward about his appearance. Besides the blue glow of the tip of his staff, that is. But humans, he had quickly learned from his short time on Earth, tended to look over minute details.

He stepped into the teleportation machine, and pressed the button that read "Lobby". Why call it an elevator when it functioned it both directions? Just when Midgardians progressed, they had to take a couple leaps backwards.

He felt the jolt in his stomach as he began his descent…. But the satisfaction disappeared as quickly as it came, when the machine stopped suddenly.

Loki turned away from the moving doors, looking over the German city, rather than face the human.

Though Loki would mention this to no one, Midgard was indeed beautiful, compared to some of the realms he frequented in his times away from Asgard.

The memory made him shudder slightly:

_You question me? You question him? He who put the scepter in your hands… You gave you ancient knowledge… and new purpose._

New purpose… he scoffed mentally. It gave him a distraction, if anything at all.

"Beautiful evening, wouldn't you say?" the human had the audacity to say.

"Outstanding," Loki replied, still not looking at him.

"You're an Englishman?" the man continued, "Your accent is heavy."

"Is it now?" Loki said, no idea what an Englishman meant, "As is yours."

He turned slowly, green eyes glittering dangerously.

The man before him wore a black suit, much like his own. His dark curly hair seemed to be a stranger to a brush, and his curious blue eyes remained fixated on Loki with keen curiousity.

"I suppose that is expected," he said, inclining his head to the side, "But with you, I'm not sure that's the case entirely."

"What am I to understand by that?" Bantering with a human, that was how far he sank, Loki realized with a jolt.

"Loki of Asgard," the man before him said casually, consulting his portable communication device, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"We are in a tiny metal box, descending in a narrow shaft… You have bravery."

"I believe the correct idiomatic expression is, I have balls."

"Ah," Loki said, confusion evident.

"I have come to deter the threat," he continued, sparing a glance at his phone, "That's you, by the way and… oh yes, Mycroft wants German vodka."

"I tire with your games Midgardian."

"That was quick. I was hoping for a couple more minutes, at least." The man slammed his finger into the emergency stop button.

"My name, Loki of Asgard, is Sherlock Holmes… MI7 has requested me to bring you in..."

"And what makes you think that I would comply?"

"I don't. By now you would've have realized that I am unarmed… unless of course you count my scarf which can function as an excellent strangulation device."

Loki lifted his staff and before Sherlock's eyes, it transformed into a scepter.

"They warned me you could do that," he said, almost bored, "But I've not come because of them."

There was nothing about Loki's posture that gave away his emotions: neither unease, nor anxiety. But he did relax slightly. From an atomic explosion detonating in two seconds to settling to throw him off the top of the building. An improvement, right?

"Then, pray tell, why are you here, Sherlock Holmes?"

"I'm here to ask you… why are you _really _here?"

"I desire the Tesseract to bring humanity to its knees," Loki said without a pause. "Anything else before I render you subservient?"

"No… something else. Why Germany? Why leave America to Europe?"

Loki looked taken aback. "You presume much about me, Midgardian."

"I don't _presume._ I observe."

Loki took a breath, unnecessary, but he enjoyed theatrics."Your world is in grave danger. And I don't wish to rule a realm at the brink of destruction."

"There's more."

Loki shot him an annoyed glance.

"And if there was, why would I tell you?"

"Because you need someone to help get you around. It's only practical."

"It seems impractical to trust someone like me," Loki pointed out.

"I acknowledge it… but the US government can be a bit trigger-happy, and European governments would be glad to put you under the microscope… and while you may be a God, or at least consider yourself one, one man can't stand up to a world alone."

"You're offering to help me, Sherlock Holmes. Why?"

"The world's security is important to me… and there's nothing I like more than annoying my older brother."


	3. Said the Sociopath

_The feedback for Conviction has been, quite frankly, unexpected. So I must say thank you. A lot. To EVERYONE (Including my sister who saw me writing and offered a listening ear for the dialogue)_

_Special mention to my reviewers for (1) Making me smile like a complete loon when you got the not-so-hidden subtext and (2) Giving me the written feedback that I need. Honestly, it goes a long way in becoming a better writer._

* * *

"Here's to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can't do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do."

― **Apple Inc.**

* * *

**GERMANY**

_Thor's not my brother, _Loki repeated for what may have been the hundredth time since his fall. While his consciousness knew it was the truth, there was something about it that felt wrong.

There were many things one was capable of lying about. Matters of the heart were not one of them. So claimed the God of Lies himself.

Yes, Loki knew what it felt to irritate his older 'brother'. He _was _well aware of the excitement that accompanied doing something that Thor would've disapproved of, and letting slip what he did, just to see his expression.

He knew...

Loki narrowed his eyes, but lowered the scepter.

"I think I can relate to that," he said, and though Sherlock saw the small motion, the glimmer of a smile was too fast for him to decipher what he possibly meant.

It had been under ten minutes, and already the… man, if he were to think of him like that… before him was already proving to be as unreadable as a certain person back in London.

"So why are you here?" Sherlock asked, as he pressed the button to allow the elevator to continue its descent.

"You consider yourself a detective of sorts," Loki said as though he hadn't heard the question.

"I don't believe I…"

"You ask too many questions. You observe what many would overlook… You may be useful to have around," He added as an afterthought

"I don't work for anyone."

"Except the group known as MI7?" Loki's eyes flashed.

"They were my ticket here. I don't need them to continue, and if they think I'd be keeping in touch…"

"But you'd have to, else they'd think something is wrong. Then they'd send someone else."

"Why would they think something was wrong? I'm notorious for my tendency to avoid people who irritate me."

The Asgardian stared at him, deciding what to make of the man before him. He opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

Both men stepped out into the ballroom area.

"Three possible exits," Sherlock announced, "Without heavy security."

"Four," Loki corrected in an almost bored voice. "You missed the balcony."

"We can't get up there."

Loki let out a mirthless laugh. "You mean _you_ can't get up there."

They strode into the party, without anyone so much so as batting an eyelid. "People see, but don't observe," Sherlock whispered to himself.

"Exactly," Loki said, picking him up on it, "And when you're planning to traipse… you called this place Europe?"

"Germany."

"Right, it's something you take advantage of. Amazing, isn't it?"

"Surprising. Are normal people usually this daft?" Sherlock wondered, "Even John isn't…"

"You should know far better than I." A pause, "Who's John?"

"A friend."

Loki smiled. "You have a weakness then."

"What?" Sherlock said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "Do you normally talk this much? I always thought of criminal masterminds to sneak around the place without raising any suspicion to themselves."

"I am no common criminal. If I were, your life would've been cut short in the elevator."

"Ever heard of science fiction?"

"What? Are you going to continue to drop these..."

It's a genre of writing that my brother hates on principle. I used to read it on purpose," the curly dark-haired man shrugged, "You remind of a character right off the page."

Loki said nothing.

Their steps were synchronized as they made their way across the floor. The people around engaged in casual banter, occasional raucous laughter echoing across the hall.

But Sherlock, for once, did not bother to observe anyone but his temporary companion.

He understood why the Asgardian God wanted his company. He even agreed with it. But his demeanour troubled the consulting detective.

Loki seemed like the type to keep his most private thoughts locked up. And while Sherlock sometimes functioned on the same need-to-know basis, for someone who intended to rule the world, Loki wasn't doing a very good job at it.

It bothered him that the dark-haired man beside him was not predictable.

They reached the doors, and Loki pushed them open. The cold air bit at Sherlock's extremities and he held his hands close to his mouth to keep them warm.

Loki did nothing of the sort.

He stared down the street, then up, before descending the stairway to the sidewalk.

"Might I ask what you're planning to do?" Sherlock asked, his voice clipping slightly as his muscles spasmed with the temperature.

Loki silenced him with his hand, as he closed his eyes.

Minutes ticked on, taxis passed, invitees greeted the pair who, to them, seemed to avoid human contact.

"Where's England?" Loki asked at last.

"Where I'm from," Sherlock answered, irritation colouring his tone.

"Is it far?"

"Couple of hours."

"Good, I need to get there before SHIELD figures out what I'm up to."

He started down the road, but was stopped when Sherlock gripped his wrist.

"Listen to me."

"After that flimsy effort at stopping me? I could've broken your arm, by _accident_."

Sherlock shook his head, eyes narrowing. "You and I are very different."

"Said the sociopath."

"Can you stop it? Gods, I feel like John." He closed his eyes for a second. "You need my help, and I'm willing to come along. But I'm not in the habit of not knowing. I'm not in the habit of following. It's either you tell me now, or…"

"Or what?" Loki asked, smirking.

"Or… I let you be. You'd last a long time without detection, I'd give you that. But not as long as you would if I help you." He fixated his gaze on the Asgardian, whose bored expression had not changed. "So, I ask again, what are you doing?"

"I told you already. And you've heard, but not listened. Your world is in danger. I'm the only one who knows about it, and I'm the only one who can do something about it. And if I can get the Earth along the way, no one's complaining."

"Actually, I can think of a couple."

The Asgardian smiled.

"You're a bit of a psychopath, aren't you?" Sherlock asked, matter-of-factly.

"Crazy people get things done that others would be too scared to try. Think about yourself, Sherlock Holmes. If you weren't a sociopath, would you be here right now?"

He didn't answer, and neither did he have to.

"So England it is, then?" He said instead.

"Yes," Loki said with a nod. "We will need a flying craft?"

"Aeroplane," Sherlock corrected, "But if government agencies are looking for you?..."

"Government agencies?" Loki scoffed, "_Who _are they looking for? Loki of Asgard?" He laughed.

And before Sherlock's eyes, Loki transformed into a woman- long black hair, small built, gentle features, but with the same green eyes.

"You're… You're…" Was he, Sherlock Holmes, actually rendered speechless?

"I'm honoured," Loki said, with a grin, "But forgive me if this form makes you uncomfortable. It is preferable for Midgardian international travel. Many people would not think of looking for the Tesseract in the hands of a woman."

"Or maybe, not with a woman who looks like this," Sherlock said.

"Precisely. So… airport?"

"Airport. But what about…?"

"Documentation? I have it. No need to be unduly concerned. Keep in mind, Sherlock Holmes, while you may be the genius of Midgard, my name is known across realms. I don't neglect any fact, nor possibility."

"Never said that you did."

"But you were thinking it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. If this escapade didn't land him in prison for the next couple years, it would only be because Mycroft took pity on him.

How ironic.


End file.
